


Fellowship

by servantofclio



Series: Sewers to Stars [6]
Category: Mass Effect, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Pre-Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1985850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April is faced with choices as she grows up. How long can she juggle her secret life and a normal life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One of the fun things about playing with this crossover universe (ME/TMNT) is that I spend a certain amount of time thinking about what transpires between the mid-2160s (when the characters are teens, roughly parallel to the events of the Nickelodeon show) and the 2180s (when the events of the Mass Effect games take place). There are a lot of potential blanks to fill in.
> 
> Here’s one of them. The crossover elements are relatively light here.

2172

 

“So did Shepard come talk to you, too?” April asks, elbows planted on the workbench a safe distance away from Donnie’s project.

 

“Uh-huh,” he says, more focused on the tiny lens he’s installing into one of the security cameras. This sort of work is always delicate, requiring precision and concentration. “What did you tell her?” Shepard’s been asking everyone for advice about what to do once she turns eighteen and finishes school. It’s smart to consider all the angles, but ultimately, the choice of what to do next in her life isn’t one anyone else can make for her. 

 

“I told her she should think about college, keep her options open.” April flicks on her omni-tool interface, frowns at it, and turns it off again.

 

“Sounds more like your thing,” Donnie points out. He makes a last adjustment to the clamps and starts to close up the casing.

 

“She’s more than smart enough,” April replies. “She’s done well in math and science. She could go into engineering or something, even get a scholarship.”

 

He frowns down at the camera, even though he’s sure he installed it perfectly, quelling the tiny, wistful sting of regret. What would it be like to have classes, intellectual stimulation, creative classmates? He’s only gotten that second-hand, seeing April’s college work—although, the way she’s complained about make-work assignments and unnecessary requirements for the last four years, he’s not sure he’d want to put himself through the same routine. There’s something to be said for picking his own projects. “You know she’s been talking about the military for years.”

 

“Yes, but she hasn’t lately,” April points out. “All I was saying is, she has options, and she should think about them.”

 

There’s a brief flash of orange light, and when Donnie looks up, April’s checking her omni-tool again. “What’s up?”

 

“Mm? Just checking my messages.” She turns off the interface. “I should be hearing about my grad school applications any time now.” 

 

“Oh.” There’s a tight, unfamiliar feeling in his chest. Everything’s changing, and it doesn’t really help that this time he can see it coming. Shepard’s birthday is in just a few weeks—Mikey’s already planning the cake and presents—and she’d talked about enlisting from the time they first met her. What April says is true; Shepard had stopped mentioning it so much over the past winter, and around New Year’s said she might just stay in the city instead, but Donnie would be surprised if she did. She’s dreamed about seeing the galaxy for too long. April’s facing decisions, too: she’ll finish her degree and graduate in May, and then she could go anywhere, do anything. Donnie knows she was working on applications to graduate programs, but she hadn’t asked him to look them over, hadn’t talked to him much about them. He’d almost managed to forget, in the weeks since she turned them in, but it was probably the first step to her leaving and building her own career. It’s hard to imagine her gone. She’s been too much a part of everything they’ve done, ever since that first night they went to the surface. April’s been a part of his— their lives for six years, and Shepard almost as long. It’ll be quieter around the lair without Shepard playing games with Mikey or working on homework or sparring with Raph. He’ll miss both April and Shepard in the lab; they’re more able and willing to help out than any of his brothers. As a team, they’ll have to adjust some combat tactics without either one of them available. And April—not seeing her almost every day? That’ll be... 

 

That’ll be weird.  Weird doesn’t seem like the right word for it, but Donnie can’t come up with a better one. He doesn’t have a word at all for the uncomfortable tension that seems to be weighing him down; he’s not even sure he wants to label it and bring it into the light. Neither Shepard nor April really has a reason to stay, not like Casey does. Casey’s life is all here, and yeah, April and Shepard are their friends, too—family, even—but they have... well, like April said: they have options.

 

“Donnie? Did you hear me?”

 

He blinks himself out of his reverie. “Sorry. Distracted. What did you say?”

 

“Hmm.” April slants a glance at him through her bangs. “Did you get enough sleep last night?”

 

He waves her off. “I’m fine.”

 

She regards him with narrowed eyes, then says, “I said, what did  you tell Shepard?”

 

He sighs. “I told her to make a list of reasons to enlist or not, and add pros and cons any other options she’s seriously considering.” 

 

April laughs outright at that, and Donnie frowns in reply. He gets enough grief for this sort of thing from his brothers. “What?”

 

“That’s so like you. Make a list, check off all the options,” she says, grinning.

 

He manages to chuckle. “Yeah, I know. You don’t have to say it: I overthink everything.”

 

“I wasn’t going to say that. You’re just highly organized. It’s a virtue. Oh!” April’s omni-tool pings, important incoming message, and she slaps the interface on. Her eyes widen as they scan the message, her face splitting into a grin. “Donnie! I did it! I got in!” She does a little dance, wiggling her hips, spinning around the end of the workbench. “I got in!”

 

“Well, of course you did,” he says, straightening and crossing his arms, bracing himself. “Where are you going? California? MIT?” She’d mentioned programs there, back when she started doing the applications. Boston might not be so bad. It’s not so far away. She could come back easily enough, and there wouldn’t be a time difference.

 

She looks up, her face totally lit up, and she’s so lovely she takes his breath away: eyes sparkling, her whole face shining with her most brilliant smile, her hair still falling in her eyes. She shakes her head and launches herself at him, and he only has a split second to get ready to catch her this time. “No, Donnie! Better! I got in to NYU!” She flings her arms around his neck.

 

Donnie stares down in shock, where she’s still grinning up at him. “NYU? You’re... staying? Here? In the city?”

 

“ Yeah I am!”

 

He dares to whirl her around then before he sets her back on her feet, and she laughs the whole time. “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure,” she says once she has her breath back. “It’s a really competitive program, and there were no guarantees. I know it’ll be a lot of work and hard to juggle everything—”

 

“But you’re staying,” Donnie breathes. He feels half stunned, like someone clocked him. 

 

April’s smile softens. “I’m staying. Yeah.” She shakes her head. “We got a piece of luck for a change, huh?”

 

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Donnie counters. “You earned this by being brilliant and working hard.”

 

April chuckles. “Working hard, I’ll take credit for. Brilliant— I guess we’ll see.”

 

She’s still grinning at him, and Donnie smiles back, still dazed. April’s staying. She’s still going to graduate school, but she’s not  going anywhere, not right now. They don’t have to say goodbye yet.

 

#

 

2182

 

After a long day in the lab, it’s usually a relief for April to go down to the lair, with its comforting dimmer light and familiar tang of mustiness underlying the smell of tea and pizza. Tonight, as usual, she hops through the turnstiles and calls a greeting before she flops into her favorite spot on the cushioned bench, sighing and stretching out her legs.

 

Tonight, though, she’s got a dilemma. It keeps a frown on her face even as she wiggles her toes, relieving the achiness from all the hours standing at a lab table. 

 

“Hey, April.” Mikey hops over the bench and drops into the seat next to her. “Long day?”

 

“Yeah,” she sighs, and only then notices how oddly quiet it is. The was a show playing on the vidscreen even before she sat down, and occasional clanking from the direction of the lab, and that’s it. “Where is everyone?”

 

“Umm... Raph and Casey are out somewhere, Leo’s working on something with sensei, Donnie’s in the lab. DONNIE!” Without bothering to get up, Mikey shouts loud enough to make April jump. “April’s here!”

 

“In a minute!” comes the muffled shout back from the lab. 

 

April pokes Mikey in the shoulder. “I already called out when I got here, dork.”

 

“I know.” He nudges her back. “You weren’t nearly loud enough, though. You gotta really shout to get through the wall of Science.” He wiggles his fingers, like Donnie’s in the lab doing magic tricks. 

 

April suppresses a smile. She does know how Donnie gets, and she supposes that he might as well be doing magic as far as Mikey’s concerned. She sighs and scrunches down until she can lean her head against the back of the seat. Mikey pats her arm. “We’ll get some dinner into you soon.”

 

She smiles in spite of herself. She can’t remember the last time she actually cooked herself a meal. Usually it’s take-out or something from the freezer, or she comes down here. “You’re too nice to me.”

 

“Nah, I’m the exact right amount of nice to you.”

 

April smiles wider and lets her eyes drift closed. She might even drift off briefly. At least, she doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps, but she does hear Donnie saying in a hushed voice, “Is she asleep?”

 

“Nope.” She opens her eyes, fighting back a yawn, and stretches. “Just tired.”

 

“Busy day?” Donnie settles down at her other side. 

 

“Yeah.” She straightens up in her seat a little and frowns, remembering the conversation she had earlier that day.

 

Of course Donnie notices. “Everything going okay?”

 

“The work is fine, it’s just...” April fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Diana and I had a talk.”

 

“Oh? About what?”

 

April has worked in Diana’s lab for three years, ever since she finished her doctorate. Diana—Dr. Warner—had been her thesis adviser, too, and April had taken the position there partly out of a sense of familiarity. Diana knew the quality of her work and was used to the odd schedule April sometimes kept. She’d also taken the position out of respect, though. She knew she had more to learn, and she knew that Diana would push her to do her best.

 

Which was exactly what she’d done that day, and it was a more uncomfortable experience than April had anticipated.

 

She sighs. “She thinks I’m playing it too safe.”

 

Donnie snorts. “Too safe? You? She has no idea.”

 

April has to smile at that. “Well, yeah. She meant, with my career. She thinks I should look further afield for my next position.” She frowns again. The words Diana had actually used were  stagnating and  coasting . 

 

“You’re smart, April,” she’d said, “but you’re not pushing yourself hard enough. You had the ambition and the drive to get your Ph.D., but now you’re coasting. Where’s your drive now? You’re stagnating if you won’t stretch yourself.”

 

“I thought I was doing good work here,” April had said, stung. She was used to Splinter pushing her further in her training, but she hadn’t expected Diana to come down on her that hard.

 

“You are, but you could be doing a lot more. Not for me, but for yourself. You need to decide what kind of career you want to have,  Dr.  O’Neil. Do you want to play it safe, or do you want to really achieve?”

 

She doesn’t want to repeat any of that here. Part of the problem is her secret life: Diana Warner has no idea of the time April spends training or patrolling, or the family that she can’t let anyone see. She looks at April and sees an intelligent young woman with great career prospects and no serious attachments: no partner or spouse, no kids, no family to speak of. Nothing to stop her from throwing herself into work, so why shouldn’t she? 

 

Why, indeed. 

 

“Further afield?” Donnie prompts, giving her a serious look. Mikey’s eyes are rounded in surprise, but he’s listening just as intently. It’s not hard to read his worry. 

 

So April has to come out with the rest of it. “She knows someone who has a fellowship opening up in his lab. I’d have to apply for it, but she thinks with her recommendation, I’d have a 90% shot at it. He’s working on some really interesting projects involving neural and psychological conditioning. I have some expertise there he could use, but it would be a new challenge for me. Only problem is—” she sighs “—his lab’s in London.”

 

“Whoa,” Mikey says, long and drawn out. “Like, across the ocean? That’s a long way away.” His eyes have gotten even bigger. Donnie merely looks thoughtful.

 

“I know,” she says. “I mean, Diana’s probably right that if I want to go further, I’ll need to relocate. This fellowship would only be a year to start, but... I just don’t know.” She bites her lip. Mikey’s looking increasingly worried, and Donnie’s just... thinking, his forehead creased, but he’s not giving her any kind of response other than that. She can’t get any real sense of his mood, maybe because Mikey’s is bubbling around with anxiety, clouding her perceptions. Neither one of them says anything for a minute.

 

Her stomach growls, loud in the silence, and Mikey jumps up while April’s laughing in embarrassment. “That is a call that I cannot ignore,” he says solemnly. “Dinner, coming right up!” and dashes off to the kitchen, where clattering immediately starts.

 

April darts a look at her remaining companion from under her bangs. “Donnie? What do you think?” Donnie’s always reasonable; this time, she could really use some advice. She still can’t really tell what he’s thinking; he’s all... cool water, silver-blue and still.

 

“I think you should do it.”

 

April blinks. Somehow that wasn’t quite what she expected, and she rolls the answer around in her head, trying to make it fit. “Really?”

 

“Yes. It sounds like a great opportunity. I want to hear more about those projects, by the way—but it sounds like a great chance to grow and develop your work. You should apply, and you should take it if you get it.” 

 

He sounds completely calm, like this isn’t a difficult decision at all, and it’s faintly irritating. April frowns. “Yes, but I wouldn’t be able to train as much—”

 

“You can train on your own.”

 

“—and I wouldn’t be here to patrol—”

 

“We can adapt. We’ll manage.”

 

“—or just hang out with you guys!” April glares at him as she finally finishes. She doesn’t get how he’s being so mellow about this.

 

“You know, there are these newfangled technologies where you can talk to people long distance.” He’s giving her a sidelong smirk now.

 

She pokes her elbow into his arm. “Yes, but it’s not the same! I’d still miss you. Idiot.”

 

“We’d miss you, too, April.” She can’t doubt his sincerity, so clear from his eyes and his voice. “But I think we’d survive.”

 

“You’d better,” she mutters darkly. He really believes this, as far as she can tell. He feels maybe a little guarded, but the currents of his mind don’t show any real agitation. 

 

He nudges her back, smiling at her remark. “Look, April, we haven’t seen any sign of the Kraang in a long time. I think you’re about as safe as you can be. You don’t need to stay close to home. If you take this, you’d have a chance to do something really interesting, and you  deserve it. You’re brilliant, and you’ve put in so much work already. This could be the chance to really make your career.”

 

“I know,” she says, softly. She knows how the world of research science works. If she wants to advance, if she wants to do the best work, she needs to be able to move. She hasn’t been playing it safe, exactly, but she’s been trying to have it both ways, trying to keep up her research career and her secret life. 

 

“Wouldn’t you wonder, if you didn’t try, what it might have been like?” Donnie’s voice grows softer, almost wistful, and his mood matches, inky shadows leaking in. 

 

April looks down at her hands knotted together in her lap, trying to get a handle on her own emotions. She hates the thought of being away. She hates that she gets fantastic career opportunities dangled in front of her, while only a handful of people even know that Donnie exists, but... 

 

...if she puts all that aside, there’s definitely an allure. Exciting science, a foreign city, the opportunity to see what she can do on her own. “Maybe,” she admits. 

 

“Then you should do it. It’s only a year, that’s not so long, and you can decide if you want to stay then, or come back, or go somewhere else.”

 

“Right,” she says slowly. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.” 

 

“I’m always—”

 

Before he can finish the smart remark, she twists around to wave a finger in his face. “Don’t get cocky!”

 

“I would never!” he protests. 

 

“And if I’m not around, you guys have to be careful!” she snaps, nearly jabbing him in the snout.

 

He catches her hand before she can, lightning fast. His fist engulfs hers, warm and rough and familiar. They’re both still for a moment, eye to eye, and her other senses catch just a ripple of some strong feeling—like but not quite like regret—but what he says is, “We’ll be fine, April. And I know you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

 

She gives him a smile, a wry one that she hopes masks the nervousness making her quiver. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you pack sunscreen?” Irma asks. “You know how easily you sunburn.”

“I’ll be spending most of my time in the lab,” April replies. “And with London’s climate, sunburn shouldn’t be much of an issue.”

 

“What about shampoo and conditioner and lotion?” Irma’s hands are planted on her hips as she surveys April’s luggage.

 

April is going over her packing checklist herself, for the last time. She needs to catch her flight to London in a matter of hours. “I hear London’s a civilized place,” she says absently. “I can probably buy that stuff there.”

 

Irma heaves a sigh. “They might not be the  same , April.” She’s always been particular about her personal care products. April’s never been nearly as invested in which brand she uses.

 

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” April says.

 

Irma sighs again just as there’s a tap on the window, and it slides open. For a moment, the sound of rain rattling on the fire escape outside grows to a roar, and then Donnie steps in and slides the window shut.

 

“Donnie?” April says, startled, as Irma cries, “You’re dripping on  everything !” and runs to the bathroom for a towel.

 

“Sorry,” he says, looking abashed as drops do, indeed, drip off him and his gear in a little circle on the floor. “I’ll just... uh... stand here...”

 

“It’s fine,” April says. “I wasn’t expecting you, though, I thought we already said goodbye?” They’d had a farewell party in the lair the night before, with everyone there, and cake (Mikey had been very insistent about the cake). She’d gotten all her hugs and goodbyes then—it had been warm and cozy, a little overwhelming, and April hadn’t quite managed not to cry. She’d assumed that would be it, and her heart rate ticks up a notch, wondering if something’s wrong. She pushes her senses a little in his direction, but while Donnie’s mind is restless with swirling currents, there’s no real distress there, and she pulls back, unwilling to intrude too far.

 

“We did,” he says, “but...”

 

“Here you go!” Irma comes back with a towel, one of the old ones April’s not taking with her. Instead of just handing it to Donnie, she wipes at his face herself, and when he takes the towel from her, she stretches up on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. April bites the inside of her cheek, with a wry half-smile, as she watches. It’s been over a decade since Donnie and Irma dated, but there’s still an easy intimacy between them that April’s always found slightly vexing. She’s never been able to put her finger on why. It’s probably just the weird possessive streak she has when it comes to the turtles, even though she should have gotten over that years and years ago.

 

“Should you be here?” Irma asks as she pulls away. “It’s daytime.”

 

“It’s overcast, and I was careful,” he says, still mopping himself off. “I don’t think anyone saw me.”

 

“So what brings you here?” April asks, finding words that sound less accusing than  why are you here?  “Is something wrong?”

 

“Oh no no,” Donnie says, wiping the leather of his belt a little more fastidiously than himself, and not quite looking at her. “It just... felt funny not to see you off.” 

 

“I know what you mean,” Irma says, and Donnie abruptly sneezes. 

 

“Sorry, excuse me.”

 

“Gesundheit,” April murmurs.

 

Irma says, “Why don’t I make some tea? April, is there still a kettle?”

 

“Yeah, I left most of the kitchen stuff for the subletter,” April says, and Irma bustles off, and April’s grateful for a few minutes alone with him. The room seems quieter with Irma out of it. In that unguarded circle of quiet, with the rain falling outside the window and Donnie still fumbling with the towel, April asks cautiously, “Donnie?”

 

He takes a deep breath and really looks at her, for the first time since he arrived, eyes dark and earnest. “I just... I’m not sure I’d really said it. I’m really happy for you, that you have such a great opportunity, and I wanted to say that. Wherever this takes you, I’m— we’re always behind you, you know that.”

 

“You’re acting like I’m going away forever,” April says, forcing a laugh over the sudden pounding of her heart. “It’s only for a year. I might even be back for a visit before then. And we’ll talk in between, you said so yourself.”

 

“I know,” he says, but there’s something forced about his tone, and April reaches out and grabs his arm, to ground herself, maybe to ground both of them. 

 

She feels it, too, now, a lurch, like she’s balanced on a wire over something bottomless and unknown. She isn’t sure how much she’s drawing on his emotions, or how much he’s drawing on hers, but she’s confident that they’re both in it, a dark undertow of uncertainty. It makes sense, really. They haven’t truly been apart before. She hasn’t left New York for longer than a two-week vacation here and there since she was sixteen, she hasn’t been away from Donnie and the others in all that time. April knows who she is—scientist,  kunoichi , empath, daughter, friend—but who she is is rooted in her city and her friends. She has to admit that the thought of being somewhere else, and alone, scares her a little. And for Donnie— when she was younger she didn’t understand it, but she knows now that she was the turtles’ gateway to the human world above their heads. They have other friends now, but she was the first, and that will never change.

 

“It’s only for a year,” she repeats, gripping tighter.

 

“I know,” he says again, and settles, the waters of his mind becoming placid again. When he smiles, it’s a genuine one, with only a hint of wistfulness. “You’re going to do great.”

 

“Thanks,” she says, warmed by the smile, buoyed by his confidence in her. Impulsively, she leans forward for a hug, and he gives it, and she doesn’t even mind that he’s still damp and the light sheen of rain leaves streaks on her shirt. “Help me make sure I haven’t forgotten anything?” she says, offering her checklist.

 

“No problem,” Donnie says, and they’re going through the list item by item when Irma comes back with the tea.

 

#

 

April O’Neil has never been to London before. She spends the first two weeks drinking everything in. It’s a fantastic city full of amazing historical sites and museums and huge numbers of people. 

 

Dr. Chandrasekhar is enthusiastic and welcoming. He speaks with a crisp accent and his office always smells of strong, milky, spicy tea. His lab is located in a brick building covered in tendrils of ivy. On the inside it’s all gleaming, state-of-the-art equipment that makes April’s fingers itch to use it. He’s brilliant and his team is full of smart people. April flings herself into a major project right away, and finds herself consulting on two more. Since she’s the new one in the group, everyone is eager to pick her brains, and she’s excited to let them. She knows she has the chance to do extraordinary work here. 

 

Her flat is tiny, cute and charming, and by the second month, she finds herself dragging her feet at the thought of going there. She lived alone in an equally small apartment back in New York, but here, when she makes it in with aching feet and plots her meal in the microwave, the emptiness of the room presses in on her, and turning on music or the vidscreen doesn’t seem to assuage it. 

 

It’s no more than homesickness, she tells herself. 

 

It’s only been a few weeks since she arrived. Of course she misses her home and her friends. She can’t be lonely; she’s surrounded by people every day, she goes out to the pub with her colleagues for drinks once a week or so, and she has lunch with one or another of them almost every weekday. The only time she’s alone is in her little flat. 

 

Once she gets to her flat, she’ll call or open a chat or send messages back home fairly often. When she’s done working in the evening, it’s mid-afternoon in New York. Irma and her friends from work—well, her human friends, generally—will be in the middle of their work days. They usually can’t spare more than a little time to chat, and if she sends a message, she might not get a reply for another day or two.

 

When she calls the lair, someone will always answer if they’re home—usually Donnie, taking her call on the console in the lab, but she gets to talk to all of the others occasionally. 

 

Donnie always answers if he’s there, but as often than not, there’s something else going on: training or mission planning or some kind of project, and later they’ll be heading out on patrol or embarking on a mission, and then April tries not to worry as she goes to bed. She doesn’t always succeed, fidgeting in her bed until she finally drops from exhaustion.

 

She hates being left out, and now she’s the one on the outside looking in. She wants to beat her fists against the screen of her machine, which feels like it separates rather than joins. Every time Donnie says, “Talk to you later, April,” and walks out of sight, she wants to physically reach through the screen and pull him back. There’s a hollowness, an ache inside her that no amount of chatting seems to be able to assuage. Some days, it drive her to stay at the lab even later, so that she stumbles into her flat exhausted, hungry, and fretful, too late for more than the briefest exchange of messages. A day or two like that leaves her even more starved for contact, and then she’ll try to tear herself away from work earlier. “I’m so sorry I didn’t call earlier,” she’ll always say when she starts her vidcall.

 

Donnie always brushes it off. “It’s okay,” he’ll say with a sweet, generous smile that she wants to bask in. “I know you must be busy. How are you? How’s work?” She’ll smile back and let out a long breath before she answers. Sometimes, if she doesn’t catch herself, she rattles on about her work projects too long, and they have to end the call before she hears enough about what’s going on with  them . 

 

Somehow, it never satisfies. No matter what she does, it feels like the distance between herself and home is growing, and it leaves her feeling on edge. By the start of the third month, she knows this year is going to feel longer than she thought.

 

#

 

When they get home from patrol, Donnie checks the time out of habit. It’s 3 am in London. April should be asleep. He could ping her anyway, just to see, but there’s a chance he’d wake her if she’s asleep, so he’d better not.

 

Three months and seventeen days since April’s been gone, and he still hasn’t adjusted to the difference in time zones. April works long hours in the lab, usually too busy for more than sporadic messages. His patrols with his brothers consume the hours that are her evenings, and by the time they’re done, she’s long since in bed. If they’re out really late, he can sometimes catch her before she goes to work in the morning, but tonight was a quiet night—it’s November, it gets dark early, so they were out and back before midnight. All his conversations with April are hurried, these days, jammed into the few hours of his afternoon between her getting home from work and his leaving on patrol. It’s different from before. When she was in New York, she’d send him a message at least once or twice during the day, and most evenings she’d come over, and about half the time patrol with them. Her absence makes the daytime hours long and— well, not quiet.  Quiet is definitely not the order of the day with Mikey and Raph and Casey around. 

 

Dull. The hours stretch out long and dull. He has just as many projects as ever, but he misses telling April about him, seeing her eyes brighten as she concentrates on something they’re working on together. 

 

Leo, passing by, notices him hesitating by the console in the lab, and pauses. “Anything wrong?” 

 

“No,” says Donnie carefully. “I was just checking the time.” He doesn’t say anything about April, because that will set off all Leo’s worry-alerts.

 

“It’s about ten, I think.”

 

“Yeah, I was trying to decide if it was too late to get into a project.”

 

His choice of words was careful, but Leo sighs and gives him a look, eyes narrowed. That look, the worried one. The  you need to get over it one.

 

Like Leo should talk. As far as Donnie can’t tell, he still hasn’t gotten over the fact that Karai went back to the Foot, and that’s been a couple years now. Leo hasn’t been quite the same since the shouting and recriminations settled down. He’s gotten quieter, and harder. He’s been burned enough by Karai’s games that he doesn’t trust as easily, not outside the family, anyway. 

 

Their situations aren’t the same, of course; Leo thought he had Karai for a while, but he never really did. Donnie has never really had April, and knows it. On the other hand, April is his friend; she’s always been his friend. There’s a love and trust between them that Leo has never had with Karai. That’s true even if Donnie and April are never anything more than friends. Of the two of them, Donnie thinks Leo’s the one to be pitied.

 

Neither of them brings any of the old baggage up. They’re both used to the weight. When you’ve carried something long enough, you don’t notice it any more. It’s there between them, all the same, as Leo fidgets in the doorway to the lab.

 

“It’s a bit late,” Leo says, with a certain hesitation. “You want to join us for a movie instead?”

 

Across the Atlantic, April’s asleep; in the other room, Raph and Mikey and Casey are bickering over what movie to watch. It’s really no question at all. He might not have everything he ever wanted—but he has his family, and he has his friends. “Sure,” Donnie says. “Want me to make some popcorn?”

 

Leo relaxes, and even smiles. “That would be great, thanks.” He’s still lingering by the door, though, and as Donnie heads toward the kitchen, he says quietly, “Are you... all right? I know with April gone...” he trails off, looking uncertain.

 

“I’m fine,” Donnie says, and lets their shoulders bump together. “It’s different, but I’m happy for her.” 

 

He doesn’t say  it’s only for a year . Chances are April’s not coming back, not for good; she’ll be on to bigger and better things, and she deserves it. She’s so brilliant and she’s worked so hard to get where she is. She deserves to shine, and the whole world deserves to see how brightly she shines. 

 

Besides, the rest of it is true, too. Donnie really is happy for her, and he really is fine.

 

He made his peace with his situation a long time ago. April isn’t the kind of woman you get over. Or maybe he’s not the kind of person who gets over things. He’s not sure which it is, or what it says about him that his love for April just... stays. It’s like bedrock, a fixture of his life that stays no matter what he does. He could no more get rid of it than he could shuck off his own shell.

 

He thought about asking her out before. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he’d had a crush on her when they were younger, but there had been too much going on, and then there had been Casey, and neither of them had really talked about it. But he’d thought about properly declaring himself around the time she started her graduate program. After all, she’d chosen to stay in New York City, to try to juggle her scientific work with her life as a  kunoichi , and that meant something, didn’t it? He’d hoped it did, he’d thought it over fourteen different ways, plotted out half a dozen ways to raise the subject. He’d been starting to make a plan when, midway through her second semester, April dragged herself into the lair, dark circles under her eyes, flung herself down on the couch, and announced: “This is it. That was my last date. I just can’t do it. I can’t do my work  and patrol with you guys  and have time for a romantic relationship. There just isn’t. Enough. Time.”

 

They’d all flocked around. Leo had made tea and Mikey had offered cookies, and Raph had told her she didn’t need to date, and Donnie had said her work was more important, and they’d all listened while she sighed over the failure of her latest relationship. Some guy she’d had a few dates with, who’d complained that she didn’t have more spare time. Eventually she’d turned to Donnie and said, fixing those huge blue eyes on him, “You’ll hold me to this, won’t you? If I start talking about any of the guys in my lab?”

 

He’d smiled and told her of course, because what else could he do? He always had her back, and she had his. That was how they worked—all of them, but especially the two of them. He’d put his half-formed plans aside that night, and never picked them up again. She’d stuck to her resolution, too. She’d never even brought up any potential boyfriends again, all the way through graduate school, and she’d been working just as hard since she finished. 

 

Even if they’re never anything else, though, she’s still his friend, and right now he misses his friend. There’s nothing wrong or unusual about that; there’s nothing Leo needs to worry about.

 

In a lot of ways, it’s good to see April throwing herself into her career. Donnie won’t ever be able to travel or collaborate or work in a lab like April’s doing, but he can take a certain vicarious pleasure out of her success, the same way they all take a little pride in hearing about Shepard’s accomplishments, whenever she sends a message.

 

April’s working so hard that it makes Donnie worry a little, though. Maybe it’s the lighting in her flat, or something about the camera, but she has a worn look even on good days, and some days the circles under her eyes are so dark it looks like she’s wearing a mask. He thinks she looks a little paler than she used to, as well. He hasn’t been sure what to say, beyond gently suggesting she get some more sleep.

 

He finishes making the popcorn and brings the bowl into the main room, putting his concern aside for the moment. April’s far away and, he hopes, sound asleep; he’ll see how she is tomorrow, or the next time she calls, and maybe say something then. 

 

In the meantime, there are his brothers and Casey and a movie full of explosions to watch. Donnie sits where he usually does, but edging into April’s usual seat beside his. Casey’s also moving into it, from the other side; without ever talking about it, they’ve all rearranged themselves to fill in the space she left in their midst. 

 

Casey grabs a handful of popcorn out of the bowl, smirking in Donnie’s direction. Donnie rolls his eyes in answer and passes the bowl the other way, toward Leo, and settles in to watch the movie.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Three and four months in, nothing has gotten better.

 

April still aches with loneliness, even though she’s around people all day in the lab. She throws her hours into the gaping maw of the work. There is always something more to do, something else to check, more literature to review, another experiment to design or analyze. Her training regimen slips, badly. She’s been trying to practice on her own, but her morning routine grows shorter and shorter. She moves through katas on her own, but she misses the fierce pleasure of working with people physically, of coordinating breath and motion, she misses running along rooftops, she even misses the thrill and terror of plunging into combat. She has always had some difficulty stilling her mind for meditation; now, more than ever, when she closes her eyes and tries to calm her breath, her mind races with tasks to complete, or listens too hard for the sound of an incoming message. Without Splinter’s guidance, it is too difficult to gauge how she is doing, much less to make progress. It is too easy to let an hour of practice gradually become fifty minutes, and then forty-five, and then forty. She runs, but it’s not the same. She is already losing conditioning, and she can feel her life tilting out of balance.

 

She had thought she might go back to New York over the holidays, but in November there are experiments to run and at the beginning of January they have a major meeting with staff from the foundation that’s providing most of their funding, and they’re scrambling for most of the last half of December to have good enough results to show. To top it off, April gets a lingering cold which puts her in a sniffling, stuffy-headed haze. Reluctantly, she postpones any travel plans. “I’m so sorry,” she tells Donnie, wiping her nose. “It’s just not going to work.”

 

“It’s okay,” he says patiently. “We know you have a lot going on.”

 

“I’m still really sorry,” she says, throwing her tissue into the overflowing basket under her desk.

 

“What’s April sorry for? Hey April!”

 

“Hey, Mikey,” she says, smiling in spite of her misery as he leans right into the camera and Donnie, pushed into the background, makes a face. “I’m sorry I can’t come home for Christmas.”

 

He gasps, eyes growing huge. “Not coming for Christmas? But April! What are we gonna do without you? Who’s gonna help me make cookies?”

 

“I don’t know, Mikey,” she says, her chest growing tight. “I’m sorry.”

 

“But the caroling! And the—”

 

Donnie claps a hand over his brother’s mouth and uses the leverage to push him away. “Stop making April feel worse,” he orders. “Are you going to be okay all alone for the holiday?”

 

She shrugs and puts on the best smile she can muster. “We’ll be so busy, anyway, I’m sure I can have dinner with a colleague.”

 

“Okay,” he says, but he’s frowning.

 

The next day, April’s father calls to tell her he’s coming out for the holiday himself. He arrives on December 23, bringing a box of cookies that nearly make April cry as soon as she opens them. Ordinary enough sugar cookies, but they’re cut out of the custom mutant-turtle-shaped cookie cutters that Mikey begged Donnie to make out of scrap metal and slathered with green frosting, and there’s also a giant heart-shaped one that says “WE MISS YOU APRIL” in white icing. April and her dad spend a good enough Christmas in her tiny flat with the teeny tabletop tree she bought, but she thinks about a big tree back in the lair, covered in cheap glass balls and hand-made ornaments and novelty turtles (Casey buys one every year), and she tries to keep the ache in her heart from her father’s eyes as best she can.

 

She sees her father off a few days later and throws herself into preparations for the foundation meeting. April manages to get through her part of the presentation, changing her lab coat and jeans for her own sharp professional outfit, and two days later her cold turns into bronchitis, which knocks her out for a two weeks. Thanks to plenty of meds, she goes back to work after that, but the cough lingers for ages.

 

It’s the first time she’s been sick in _years_. She’s been injured, but not _sick_ ; sullenly, she resents her body’s refusal to stay healthy. She has a sneaking suspicion that the lack of training has put her body out of whack, but it’s even harder to get back into it now that breathing’s a chore.

 

Being sick crimps her social life; cold, damp winter air and crowded public spaces don’t do much for her lungs. Sometimes at the end of a day at the lab, it’s all she can handle to go home and flop on the couch with a pot of tea and a warm blanket, wishing there were someone to take care of her so she didn’t have to feel pathetic all alone.

 

She puts on a bright face when she gets on a vidcall, though. She doesn’t want to add to anyone’s worries, especially when Donnie keeps looking at her through the screen like he wants to take her temperature by remote.

 

#

 

One day she comes into work to find a half dozen of the others clustered around a vidscreen. “What are you watching?” April asks, putting her coat away and burying her cough in her elbow.

 

“Induction ceremony,” someone says.

 

“Induction to what?” she says, trying to get a clear view of the screen.

 

Nicholas, one of the graduate research assistants, obligingly moves over so she can see past his shoulder. “The Council’s named the first human Spectre. Quite an honor.”

 

“Spectre?” she says, and someone starts explaining the term and its history in galactic politics to her—but April misses most of it, because Nicholas says, “It’s a Commander Shepard,” and April starts.

 

She has to hope nobody notices anything odd about her reaction, because she almost shouts “ _What_?” As it is, she gasps a little and pushes forward to see the screen, and sure enough, it’s Shepard, her face cast into sharp relief by the lighting. She looks weirdly incongruous in her combat armor, in some unfamiliar formal audience chamber, with her scars stark on her skin.

 

And April—can’t dance in place, or cheer too loudly. She has to wait for hours, gritting her teeth while her more politically inclined colleagues debate the merits of the choice and expound on the galactic consequences, though when one of them says something dismissive about Akuze, she cannot and will not stop herself from getting in some sharp remarks about armchair soldiers. She’s still fuming as she makes her way home, and her ire doesn’t dissolve until Donnie answers her vidcall.

 

“Did you _see_ —” she starts.

 

“I _know_ ,” he says, grinning ear to ear.

 

She grins back, for once forgetting her cough and the distance and the way their schedules don’t match up, and they can finally just talk about how _awesome_ it is.

 

#

 

Midway through the year, April is scanning through some results on her screen, half listening to the quiet conversations of colleagues around her, when her eye is drawn to two of the graduate research assistants, their heads together in a corner. Nicholas is tall and lanky and eager to please; Ramona is sharp and funny and full of energy. The two of them work together a lot, and well; April has heard them bouncing ideas off each other plenty of times. At the moment, they’re talking, quiet but animated, with Nicholas leaning over Ramona’s shoulder. She straightens and turns toward him, her hands waving wildly. He smiles down at her with an adoring expression and she grows still, suddenly, the movement of her hand stopping as if they’re frozen in place. The two of them lean toward each other, slightly but inexorably, as if the gravity of the other is pulling them in. Slowly, Nicholas reaches up and tucks a lock of curly hair behind Ramona’s ear.

 

April finds that hands are clenching and her breath is coming a little short. When she closes her eyes, there’s another scene painted on her eyelids.

 

It’s a simple, ordinary thing that she just witnessed. People do it all the time. April’s seen plenty of couples together before.

 

But here, in this lab, on this day, it hits her with force, a blow to the gut. She’s so _tired_ of being alone. She’s tired of being sick and spending all her hours in the lab or in her tiny flat. She wants her friends. She wants to train and spar properly. She wants to spend her evenings watching stupid vids and eating ridiculous food concoctions, surrounded by people she cares about. Instead of spending her nights on the couch, she wants to leap across the rooftops in the darkness, more silent than a breath of wind. She wants to drink vast quantities of coffee with Donnie and talk over her experiments and his projects until they’ve taken them as far as they will go, until they’re stuffed full of ideas and breathless and giddy, laughing with each other, and he could look at her like _that_... they could look at _each other_ like that...

 

 

 

She almost laughs at herself, as the fragile realization unfolds, except that she wants to cry, right now while she’s sitting at her desk in a top-of-the-line laboratory. Now. She had to figure this out _now_? She’s more than thirty years old and she’s known him since she was sixteen and she finally just figured it out _now_?

 

She folds the thought up and tucks it away in a box at the back of her mind. She still has six months left of this fellowship, and she’s committed herself. April O’Neil is not going to run out of a contract she’d agreed to, just because she’s _unhappy_.

 

Just because she might be lovesick as well as homesick.

 

Six months, still, of stimulating work and a brilliant boss, and what she thought was going to be the next step in her scientific career has become a job she hates, one where she’s just marking time until she can go home.

 

#

 

Now she’s truly waiting, counting down the days. April has always hated waiting. She’s learned to be patient, learned how to calm her mind or distract herself with other necessary tasks, learned to _manage_ , but she still hates spinning her wheels.

 

Even more, she hates being left out of the action, hates having to wait for word.

 

It’s worse now that she’s half a world away.

 

She taps her fingers on the desk and fiddles with her empty coffee mug and eyes the clock. Donnie said he’d call when they got back, and it’s now—she calculates in her head—getting on toward 3 AM in New York. That’s late, later than it should have been, and while she already told Dr. Chandrasekhar she might be late into the lab today, he clearly wasn’t happy about it. She shouldn’t be _too_ late, then, but if she goes now she’ll definitely miss the vidcall.

 

Assuming there is one.

 

She slaps that thought away, rejecting it from the very core of her being. She’d— she’d _know_ , wouldn’t she? If something had gone _that_ wrong? She’s the girl with the empathy. She’d have to know.

 

Wouldn’t she?

 

April tells herself that she can still feel their minds, that she would have known if anything had— if anything dire had happened, but there’s an almost queasy feeling spreading through her. The truth is, she’s not sure. She still doesn’t grasp the full dimensions of how her mind works, but proximity matters, and she’s an ocean away. She can’t tell if she’s really feeling the fine threads of her friends’ awareness, or if she merely thinks she does. The sentient mind can be remarkably good at tricking itself. She knows that.

 

She hates that she can’t tell the difference, too. It’s not the first time they’ve run a mission without her, obviously, but it’s the first time the call has been this _late_.

 

With a sigh, she picks up her mug and gets up to refill it. Everything will look better with more coffee, right?

 

She only takes a couple steps away from her seat before the vidscreen comes to life. “Hey, April—oh. You’re not there?”

 

April almost drops her mug in her haste to scramble back. She drops into the chair and grabs the edge of the desk to keep herself from rolling away. “Donnie! Is everything okay?”

 

On the screen, Donnie’s face splits into a broad, sweet smile. “Oh, there you are! Heeeey, April.”

 

He sounds... off, but April is too busy staring at the black eye and the gauze pad taped to the side of his head to fully notice. “What _happened_?” Her voice rises to a shrill tone that makes her wince.

 

“Oh, nothing... nothing much. Hit the wall a few times. You know how it is.”

 

Now she registers the weird, drifty tone, and peers at the screen to gauge the size of his pupils. She can’t quite control her own voice when she says, “Are you high?”

 

He nods solemnly. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Definitely. Definitely probably. You know,” he adds confidingly, “I can’t really feel all the fractures any more. I’m all floaty.”

 

April takes a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She’s going to have to be calm to get any useful information out of him in this state. “What fractures, Donnie?”

 

“Oh, I broke my arm and some ribs and— you know what, April, you’re so pretty in that light, I don’t say it enough... is it morning where you are?”

 

She blinks, startled. It’s been a long time since Donnie just complimented her out of the blue. “Yeah... yeah, it’s morning, and... thank you.”

 

“Any time, I just... you looked...” His brow furrows and his smile drops away, replaced with a sort of wistful, confused look, and April’s stomach twists. This is not a conversation she’s ready to have now, not when she’s so far away and has months left on her fellowship, and for God’s sake not while he’s not in his right mind.

 

So she interrupts, trying to project calm. “Can you tell me what happened?”

 

He frowns even harder at that, looking like he’s searching for words or memories through sheer force of will. His mouth opens, but it’s Raph’s voice April hears, from offscreen: “ _There_ you are. I found him, Leo.”

 

“How did you lose him in the first place?” Leo’s voice calls, even more distant, and April finds some of her anxiety dissipating. If the others are there and well, things can’t be too bad.

 

Donnie turns to the side, and April winces as she gets a better view of the bandages swathing his arm and shoulder. “Hey, Raph, I had to call April, I mean, I promised...”

 

“’Course you did.” Raph’s broad face appears in the screen. “Hey, April. I’m going to get the so-called genius here to bed now.”

 

“Raph, what happened?” she demands.

 

“Mikey went a little strong on the painkillers.” He slides an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “Come on, Donnie, up you get.”

 

“That’s not what I meant!” she says, even as Donnie mumbles half-hearted protests and Raph hauls him out of his chair anyway.

 

Raph flashes a smirk at the screen. “I know.” He adds, calling off-screen, “Leo, c’mere, April wants to talk to you.”

 

“ _Raphael_ ,” she growls, but he ignores her as he guides Donnie out of the room, and she gets a glimpse of _more_ bandages and flinches all over again, feeling sick.

 

She knows it’s a waste of energy to fume about how unhelpful Raph is, but that doesn’t stop her from fuming anyway until Leo slides into Donnie’s vacated chair, looking weary enough that she feels a pang of guilt that she’s not there to help. “Hi, April, how are things in London?”

 

She waves the question off. “Fine. Wet. Leo. What _happened_?”

 

“Donnie’ll be fine, we’re all fine,” he says. “Just a miscalculation. We thought Donnie would be okay clearing out their computers while the rest of us took out the guards, but they had some big mutants on hand that we didn’t know about.” He rubs a hand over his face, and April bites her lip. She knows how much Leo hates being a step behind like that.

 

“Mutants we know?”

 

He shakes his head. “No. Never seen ‘em before. We think they brought them in from somewhere.” He frowns. “Maybe even off-planet. There was some kind of egg in one of the labs we didn’t recognize.”

 

April tenses. “It was Cerberus again, wasn’t it?”

 

Leo spreads his hands, his shoulders rising and falling slowly. “No logos, nothing obvious to connect them to the ones we’ve seen before, but... it sure looks like Cerberus.”

 

April nods, her mouth tight. Unknown mutants, unidentified biological samples, all in an innocuous-looking lab with bland but confusing ownership? That practically _screams_ Cerberus.

 

He continues, “We’ll know more after we decrypt the files we got, but, well... we’re going to need Donnie on deck for that, so it’ll take a little time.”

 

She swallows, worry knotting in her chest. “How bad is it?”

 

“He’s got a concussion and a broken arm and some cracked ribs.” Whatever Leo sees in her face, his tone gentles. “He’ll be okay, April. We’ll make sure he gets plenty of rest, and he’ll be back to analyzing data in a few days, and back to normal in a few weeks.”

 

He’s being a little optimistic, April knows this, but he’s also fundamentally right. They get hurt, they heal and recover. They’ve been through this before.

 

But it’s not usually Donnie who’s hurt, and she’s never been so far away before. The idea of being that far out of the action makes her itch.

 

She forces a smile anyway. “Yeah. Of course you’re right. If there’s anything I can do, let me know?”

 

“Will do. Might send some of the files your way for a look.”

 

“Okay.” She relaxes fractionally. “Get some rest yourself, okay? You look done in.”

 

“On my way,” he says, with a weary smile. “Take care. We’ll give you a call in a couple of days, okay?”

 

“Okay,” she agrees, and they sign off. As soon as the screen goes dark, she starts investigating flights to New York and grimaces at the expense, trying to figure out if she can clear her schedule at all. It’s stupid and irrational—she could help out a little, sure, but they’ll have it under control—but it’s _Donnie_ , and she’s not _there_ —

 

Her omni-tool pings with a new message while she’s looking. Dr. Chandrasekhar, asking when she’ll be in, and reminding her about the conference they’re scheduled to attend. Wait, is that really in two weeks? Their results are—not ready, and—

 

April closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and another. Calm, she tells herself, no matter how heavy her eyes feel.

 

After another breath, she dismisses the page of travel results and sends a reply saying him she’s on her way to work.

 

#

 

Two weeks later—after April pulled two all-nighters leading up to the presentation, jetted off to Singapore for the conference itself, flew back, and then spent 36 hours in bed sleeping off her jet lag and the bug she’d picked up in transit—a text message pops up in her omni-tool.

 

_How was the conference? More international fame and acclaim? D._

April smiles immediately. She hasn’t had time for more than the briefest of messages lately with all the conference stuff going on. Donnie doesn’t usually message her at work, but her program is compiling and no one’s demanding her attention right now, so she’s got a few moments.

 

_Presentation went fine, conference was exciting but exhausting. How are you feeling?_

The reply only takes a few seconds.

 

_Okay. Head’s better. Bored._

She’s still smiling fondly at the screen, and starts to enter a reply, when another message pops up.

 

_I didn’t say anything weird the other day, did I? I know I called when I was kind of out of it, but I don’t remember very well._

Her smile fades. _She_ remembers; the exchange kept coming back into her head, drifting into her thoughts during sleepless nights spent working, and she’d found herself trying to parse every word, every moment of hesitation, every flicker of expression on his face. She might be reading too much into everything, might be projecting back to the old days, but... maybe there’s still something there? She hesitates for a moment before she writes, _No, you were fine, I was just worried._

 

_Sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you. I’m okay._

 

_It’s all good_ , she types. _Glad you’re doing better_. She thinks about it for a moment, and then adds: _I miss you._

 

They’re small words, and she’s not sure the bare text can carry the weight she wants to give them. But she glances around at her well-stocked, state-of-the-art lab, the two grad assistants busy at their stations, diligently not looking at each other, and she’s all too aware of what she misses.

 

The reply draws her attention back to the screen. _Miss you too. Not the same around here without you._

 

Her heart pounds. Is she giving those words too much weight, too? She enters a reply before she can think too much. _I know what you mean._

 

Her screen flashes an alert: the preliminary analysis has finished. Time to start combing through the results. April suppresses a sigh. _Sorry, gotta go—work calls_.

 

The reply’s almost instant. _Okay. Check in later. Don’t worry._

 

_Later_ , she writes, instead of arguing that she gets to worry if she wants to.

 

She’s keeping track. Only about three months until her fellowship ends. She’s started working on applications for jobs back in New York. Three months, and she’ll go home, and... and then maybe...


	4. Chapter 4

Casey meets April at the airport. She’s feeling spacey from the flight, but she can’t stop smiling as she breathes in, trying to figure out if there’s something different about New York air, or New York minds, in comparison to London ones. “Sorry about the wait, my flight was delayed,” she tells Casey as they hug.

 

He smirks at her. “Yeah, I know, you’re gonna miss the party.”

 

“Party?” she says, but Casey just grabs half her bags and distracts her with small talk, which manages to keep her awake as they head into the city, drop off her stuff at Casey’s place, and head down into the tunnels. She almost forgets what he said until she’s standing at the entrance to the lair, dumbfounded. There are more people in the lair than April has ever seen there before, a whole host of genial thoughts and emotions jostling for her awareness. As she stands there blinking, most of them shout, “Welcome back, April!” and Mikey runs up to give her a bone-squeezing hug.

 

“You threw me a party?” she says.

 

“Duh!” he says. “’Cause you deserve the best!” Another squeeze, and he’s bouncing off to drag Angel out for a dance as the party breaks back into smaller groups of conversation.

 

“Sorry,” Leo says, taking his turn for a hug. “Mikey got a little carried away.”

 

“It’s fine,” she says, feeling a little dazed. Leatherhead, looming in the corner, waves to her over the heads of most of the crowd, and is that _Kurtzman_ he’s talking to? Mikey must have invited literally everyone the turtles know—there are a couple of people here April’s not sure _she_ knows, and some she only barely knows, like Martin, who’s hard to miss because he showed up in a cloak and a feathered hat.

 

“There’s food in the kitchen,” says Raph, showing up for a one-armed hug and handing Casey a beer with the other hand.

 

“You didn’t bring me one?” April says, indignant and still trying to get her bearings.

 

Raph smirks at her. “The way you look? You’d be face-down in a hot minute. Go get some food first.”

 

She sticks out her tongue, and he just laughs at her.

 

“Real mature, Red,” Casey puts in.

 

April scowls at both of them and starts on her way to the kitchen. She’s still trying to adjust her expectations. She’d expected that it would be just them, her and Casey and the turtles and Splinter. Maybe Irma would stop by, or something, but it would be cozy and small, and maybe she’d have a chance to get Donnie alone for half an hour...

 

She gets to the kitchen and stands still, staring at the six or seven pizza boxes strewn around. The prospect of figuring out what’s on which pizza and making a choice is almost more than she can handle at the moment.

 

“Sorry about all the fuss,” says Donnie behind her. “Do you want me to get you something besides pizza? I’m sure we have something...”

 

“Donnie!” April turns around and flings her arms around him.

 

She gets a hug back and she sighs, feeling the tension drain out of her. She’s the right height to tuck her head against his shoulder, under his chin, and she can listen to how his chuckle resonates when she has her ear pressed to his chest, and his arms around her feel like coming home. “You okay?” he asks.

 

April steps back but keeps her hands on his shoulders and looks up. “I am so jet lagged,” she says earnestly. “I hardly know which way is up, and—”

 

“Yeah, this is a lot to take in. I told Mikey,” he says, sounding a little exasperated, “but did he listen? No. Does he ever listen? No.”

 

April smiles. “So you’re surprised why?” Then her stomach makes a gurgle that’s actually audible.

 

Donnie grins while she winces, and says. “Let’s get some food into you.”

 

He presses her into a chair and a moment later brings her a plate and a can of soda, and April could practically weep for joy. She makes her way through a slice of pepperoni and a slice of onion-and-mushroom, thankful that Mikey must have left off the weird stuff for the party guests, and then, comfortably sated, she takes her first beer. Donnie simply watches her the entire time, smiling gently, while other people drift in and out of the kitchen for refreshments.

 

“Welcome back,” he says.

 

April smiles. The beer is cold, her stomach is full, there’s more food if she wants it, and she’s home. What’s not to like? So it wasn’t exactly what she’d been imagining, it’s still good, and here she is, talking to Donnie, even if it’s not quite the private conversation she was hoping for. “Thanks.” She bites back a yawn.

 

“Have a good flight?”

 

“It was fine, just long, and delayed.” April shrugs. “Uneventful, at least.”

 

“How long are you staying? You haven’t been saying much about what’s next?”

 

April smiles and sets her bottle down on the table. “Indefinitely. I’m staying. I can move back into my apartment, I’ve got a job lined up at Jackson’s lab—he’s only got six months of funding, but after that I’m sure I can find something else.”

 

To her surprise, Donnie frowns. “You’re staying?”

 

“That’s what I just said,” she points out tartly, but she’s puzzled, and her heart starts beating faster.

 

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he says. “I mean, you thought London was such a great opportunity, and you thought it was going to lead to a lot more...”

 

“Jackson’s work is fine,” she says, a little defensively.

 

“I know, but he’s not really on the same level as Dr. Chandrasekhar or Dr. Warner, is he?”

 

April frowns. “I thought you’d be happy I was back.”

 

“I am!” Donnie’s shoulders tighten and his hands close briefly while he takes a breath. “But—”

 

Angel blows into the kitchen then, draping an arm around April’s shoulders to say hi and grab a slice of pizza. April returns the greeting and the hug as best she can, trying to calm herself, and once Angel’s breezed out again, April takes another drink and stares up at Donnie. “But what?”

 

He sighs. “I thought you were going to be on to bigger and better things, that’s all. You’re brilliant and you could have a fantastic career, you _deserve_ to have a fantastic career, and I just...” he trails off, looking more distressed than April would have imagined.

 

“You just what?” April presses, willing her hands not to shake.

 

Donnie’s still frowning. “... I just don’t want you to settle.”

 

April shakes her head, her ponytail swishing against the back of her neck, and pushes her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m not _settling_. It turns out I don’t like traveling as much as I thought.” She tries to smile. “London was great, but I guess I’m too much of a New Yorker to really want to live anywhere else.”

 

Donnie smiles a little, but his forehead is still furrowed. “Are you— are you sure you want to limit yourself like that? New York’s a big city, but... you don’t have to- to tie yourself down here...”

 

“I know what I want,” April snaps, and breaks off, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead. Of all the ways she imagined her homecoming was going to go, nearly having a fight with Donnie was about the last of them. The last thing she wants to do is to blurt out her feelings in fit of anger. She takes a deep breath and opens her eyes, putting on a smile that feels too tight. “I know what I talked about before, but now I think I want a more balanced life. I want to get back into shape and... and hang out with you guys. I missed you too much.” That much is truth, if only a half-truth. But... she’s exhausted, and it’s noisy enough she can hardly think straight. The worst of it is, Donnie’s right; there were other labs, better labs, that were interested in having her, and she turned them down because they weren’t here. She _is_ sacrificing the career she could have for her friends, for getting back the balance and the purpose she’s been missing. And she’s sacrificing it for Donnie, for even the potential of making something work, and... if he doesn’t want her to be here, maybe she’s read him all wrong, and it’s a mistake to hang on to this.

 

There’s a burst of laughter from the other room, and a break in the music. Mikey bounces into the kitchen, still humming, and dances in place as he gives April another hug. “I’m really glad you’re back, April,” he says, all wide, serious eyes. “Are you back for good? Are you? Please?”

 

April smiles even as her eyes sting. Of course Donnie was never going to react like this, but she’d hoped for something a little more positive than what she got. “Yeah, Mikey, I think I am.”

 

“That’s great!” He plants a noisy kiss on her cheek and dances off to scarf down some pizza.

 

When she looks back at Donnie, he’s giving her a slightly wavery smile. “We all missed you, April. I’m glad you’re back, too, but I don’t want you to miss out on anything—”

 

“I already missed so much stuff with you guys,” she says firmly, but the effect is somewhat spoiled by the giant yawn that cracks open her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” Donnie says. “You must be tired, I shouldn’t have brought it up now.”

 

April really, really wishes he hadn’t, but she quells the impulse to say so. “It’s okay,” she says instead. “Is there anywhere I can crash?” She’s tired enough that she’s pretty sure she can sleep no matter how loud it is, and maybe with some rest she’ll be able to untangle the knot of emotions that’s threatening to choke her. It’s all too much, all of a sudden, and worst is the creeping suspicion that Donnie’s unhappy that she’s turning away from the high-powered research career she could have had, that he’s _disappointed_ in her.

 

Donnie offers his own bed, but April can’t bring herself to take the offer. He and Leo make up a guest bed in the spare room at the back of the lair instead, and April curls herself into the worn sheets that smell of industrial detergent and lets a few tears leak out before she falls asleep.

 

#

 

“Well done, April,” Splinter tells her as she kneels at the close of her training session, sweat matting her hairline and trickling between her shoulder blades.

 

“Thank you, sensei,” she says, to be polite, “but I think we both know I used to be better than that.”

 

“Hm,” he says.

 

She concentrates on slowing her breath. It had been a tough workout; she was pushing herself to make up lost ground. Strength, muscle mass, endurance, flexibility—she’s lost all of those, and her skills are rusty. She’s fighting just to get back to the condition she’d been in, and in the meantime the rest of them have kept in practice and gotten better than they were. It’s emblematic of her whole life since she’d come back. It seems like nothing should have changed, in so many ways: she’s back in her old apartment and back with her friends, just like she wanted. In the weeks since she returned to New York, she’s adjusted to her new job and gotten back on a schedule. But somehow she can’t quite slip back into the space she left behind. One of the lights in her apartment flickers now, and her kitchen faucet has a drip that it never had before. She can hear it plinking into the sink while she’s trying to go to sleep. On movie nights, she has to remind them to move over so she can claim her seat, and she’s not in good enough shape yet to join the rest of them on patrol. It seems like the guys have rearranged themselves without her, and she doesn’t quite fit any more. Worse, she’s not sure whether they’re really the ones who have changed, or whether she has.

 

“After my mutation,” Splinter says, and April looks up, startled, because he seldom talks about those days, “there was much I had to relearn.” He spreads out a hand: three long, thin, clawed fingers and a thumb. “My hands and limbs and joints had changed, I had... this—” his tail uncurls from beneath his robe. “There was much to adjust for.” His mouth twitches. “And I had very little time to myself. I practiced, for the most part, while my sons slept. It took time to regain my skills and gain new mastery.”

 

“It sounds very difficult,” April says, torn. She would love to ask questions about that time, which seems almost unimaginably dark and burdensome. She thinks she sees the point he’s making, though, and she can’t let it stand. “It’s my own fault I’m out of shape, though. I let myself get out of condition.”

 

“And yet, neither blame nor regret will help you regain what you have lost.”

 

April sighs at that, unwillingly admitting the truth of it. “I suppose you’re right.”

 

“Of course I’m right,” Splinter says mildly. “Your effort and focus are commendable.”

 

“Thank you,” she says to the floor. She’s been getting up early to join them for group training, going to work, and then coming back to the lair for an individual session while the guys are out on patrol. It makes her days grueling, but... it’ll be worth it in the end. She hopes.

 

“You are progressing well. You seem to be working with a rare sense of purpose and dedication.”

 

In their group training sessions, she’s found she prefers sparring with Leo, who patiently pushes her to her current limits without judgment. Raph and Mikey both tend to go a little too fast, or too hard, forgetting that she’s not where she used to be. Donnie stays at her pace, but does it with a tight mouth and worried eyes that she hates looking at. Worry, or pity, or whatever it is, it’s not the way she wants him to look at her. She has to work to keep herself from snapping at him to knock it off. It’s come home to her, painfully, just how much she cares about his opinion, how much she wants his _good_ opinion, wants him to give her one of those bright fond looks that make her feel like she can fly. But he keeps looking worried instead, and sometimes she _does_ snap, and then he just tightens away from her and frowns more, and she feels like crap. None of this is what she meant to happen, she wanted to be wrapped up in a warm fuzzy cocoon of romance by now, but she can’t seem to break the cycle they’re currently in. It never seems like the right time and place to say _I love you, I’m staying for you_. What if he says it doesn’t matter, that she should do whatever it takes to have a brilliant career? What if he simply doesn’t believe her?

 

She finds she’s thinking about Donnie almost all the time, wondering what he’s doing, what he thinks about her, all while she’s trying to figure out how to fix this mess she made. The only thing she can think of is to get back to the way things used to be, work and patrol and hanging out in the lab, and to do it as quickly as possible.

 

The words slip out without her meaning to say them. “I— guess it took going away and losing— I mean, not being here— to realize what I really wanted.” April cuts herself off, biting her lip.

 

“Which is?”

 

She takes a breath, but she can’t stop her rising flush, and she can’t, she _won’t_ , spill her heart here and now. “I value my work,” she says instead, “but it can’t be all there is to my life. I want to be with my friends and I want to be part of the fight again. I want to be part of the _team_ again.” In spite of her best efforts, unhappiness makes her voice a little unsteady, and she looks up at Splinter warily. Her cheeks are still hot.

 

He has always been hard to read—his thoughts are closely guarded, even from her—and right now his expression is inscrutable as he gives her a long, searching look. “When you went to London,” he says, “my sons grew accustomed to the idea that you would not return, at least not to remain permanently.”

 

April blows out a breath, wondering if they’re talking about his _sons_ , or about _one_ son. “I never said that,” she mutters.

 

“No. Yet given the opportunities available to you, it was a logical conclusion, if a premature one.”

 

“There are opportunities here, too.”

 

“There are,” Splinter agrees. “In any case, they, too, have much to relearn.” He lays a hand on her shoulder. “Give it time. Be patient with yourself, and him.”

 

That leaves little doubt what they’re really talking about. April’s mouth twists into something like a smile. “I’ll try, sensei.”

 

He gives her a pat on the shoulder, as they both hear the sound of returning voices echoing into the lair, and April takes a deep breath and rises to join them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place a few weeks after ch. 4, and the day after "Hero's Homecoming," also in the Sewers to Stars series.

Shepard sighs and surveys the hotel suite around her. Not as neat as when she’d checked in, although not too bad; there were a few remnants of gift wrap scattered about the room, but for the most part, her guests of the night before had cleaned up after themselves. Typical; she remembers plenty of admonitions to _leave no trace of your presence!_ and a smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. She bends to pick up the last bits of detritus and winces as her injured shoulder twinges. She carefully stretches the healing tissue as she straightens.

 

The hotel’s dedicated comm line buzzes. Mildly puzzled, Shepard crosses the room to answer it. “Yes?”

 

“Commander Shepard? The journalist from last night is here with some follow-up questions, if you have a few moments, she says.”

 

The journalist from last night? Shepard frowns for a moment. “Sure. Send her up.”

 

She keeps her pistol ready to hand just in case, but yeah, it’s April who appears at the door. “Hey,” says Shepard, relaxing enough to shut the door and accept a hug. “Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah.” April gives her a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “Just seemed like we didn’t get that much time to talk last night.”

 

Shepard laughs. “Yeah, well, with everyone there—”

 

“Exactly,” April agrees, and flops into one of the chairs. “So I had some time over my lunch hour, and I thought I’d stop by.”

 

“That’s cool.” Shepard looks around the room. “I need to pack up my things, but that won’t take long.” She hauls her duffel bag out of the closet and sets it on the bed. It’s by far the grungiest object in the suite. “Anything in particular you wanted to talk about?”

 

“Actually, I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” April says. “I mean, things sounded kind of intense, all of that mind-meld stuff, and you... feel a little funny.”

 

Shepard looks up sharply, to see April waving her hand at her temple, one of those loose, vague gestures she used to indicate her extra senses. “I’m not pushing anything at you, am I?” Shepard asks, dismayed.

 

“No, you’ve got it locked down pretty well,” April says, frowning. “But there’s something... different.”

 

Shepard exhales, looking down, and shoves her socks into the duffel bag. “I don’t know what to tell you. That beacon was... something else.” She shuts her eyes tightly. Even now, it doesn’t take much to bring the vision back—brief, blurred images of pain and violence, the advent of the machines, screaming. She pushes it back as best she could, and opens her eyes to find April looking at her with eyes wide and horrified.

 

“I caught _that_ ,” she says. “Shepard—”

 

Shepard shakes her head. “It’s okay. It’s... under control.” She takes a deep breath. “And the other stuff, with the asari... it wasn’t my favorite thing in the world, but it helped, with the visions, so... I guess it was worth it. We found out what we needed to know.” Heedless of creases, she starts stuffing the rest of her clothing into the bag.

 

April is quiet for a second, and then she says, “Look, I’ve just got some experience having people rummage around in there, so if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

 

“Thanks.” Shepard still needs to pack her bathroom stuff, but she thinks she has everything else, and sits down on the bed, facing April. “It’s... it’s okay,” she says honestly. “The beacon, that hurt, I don’t think those things are designed to work with our brains.”

 

April has her thinking face on. “It worked with yours, though.”

 

“Yeah. And Saren’s. So maybe it’s not that rare.” Shepard shrugs. “I don’t know. The asari on my crew, though, Liara—that melding was weird, but it wasn’t... uncomfortable. She was trying to be gentle. She’s a good person.”

 

April nods. “It seems like you got pretty close with your crew.”

 

“Yeah. Especially the combat team.” Thinking about her team makes Shepard smile. “I know the _Normandy_ ’s whole crew, but the combat team— I mean, I’ve been Alliance almost twelve years now, and I’ve worked with a lot of people, but this team was special.”

 

April relaxes into her chair. “Tell me about it?”

 

Shepard chuckles. “It shouldn’t have worked at all—too many different species, too many different skill sets and experiences. I don’t know. I mean, you know and I know what it’s like to work with a really close-knit team, right?” She looks up and finds April nodding, her mouth turned up in a wry half-smile. “One where everything’s in sync? So this shouldn’t have worked—Wrex is like five hundred years old and has been everywhere, Tali’s something like twenty, Liara’s a civilian archaeologist, Garrus is a cop—but especially toward the end, we were close to that. We knew what to expect from each other and I hardly even needed to give orders.”

 

“That’s amazing,” April says, but something in her tone is a little flat. Shepard looks at her more closely.

 

“You okay?”

 

April shakes herself. “Yeah. I am. I just...” She sighs as Shepard raises her eyebrows. “I was in London on that fellowship, remember? For a year. Got back just a couple of months ago, and it’s just... been harder to get back into sync than I thought it would be.”

 

Shepard frowns. “What do you mean?”

 

April sighs again. “It’s no big deal, I guess I just thought things would be the same, you know? And they are in some ways, but in other ways—” she shrugs “—I got really out of shape and I didn’t have much chance to train, so I’ve had a lot of catching up to do. They’re in sync, but I’m not, quite.”

 

“It can be hard to get back to the way things were, when you’ve been out for a while,” Shepard offers, thinking back over some of the injuries she’s recovered from.

 

“Yeah. It’s getting better,” April says. “It’s just... everything’s a little weird.”

 

“I get that.” Shepard sighs. “My team will never be quite like it was. We lost someone, my lieutenant, a little before the final battle.”

 

“I’m sorry,” April says softly.

 

“It’s okay,” Shepard says again, feeling like the words sound hollow this time. “It’s... well. I’ve lost people in my command before.” She shuts the memory of Akuze firmly away, willing her emotions to stay under control. “But yeah, this team... this team was special.”

 

“It sounds like it,” April says.

 

Shepard takes a breath and smiles. “Sorry. Didn’t mean for things to get heavy.”

 

“Hey, I came here to ask about things messing with your head,” April says. “But we can change the subject.”

 

“By all means,” says Shepard, relaxing.

 

April throws Shepard a sly grin. “Did you meet anybody?”

 

Shepard rolls her eyes, but she’s still smiling. April’s the closest thing she has to a sister. It’s good to be able to talk to her about... normal things. Things were the fate of the world isn’t at stake. “I met lots of people, April.”

 

“You know what I mean.”

 

“Well, the males I spent most of my time with were Alliance personnel under my command, a krogan bounty hunter, and a turian detective. So, do you think I should go for the krogan or the turian?”

 

April laughs. “Well, hmm, that’s a tough choice. I do hear things about krogan...”

 

Shepard makes a face.

 

“... or turian’s good, too, as long as there’s no cross-chiral sensitivity, but that’s not really very many people...”

 

“I’m not planning on dating either of them,” Shepard says firmly. “We’re friends, and I’m good with that.”

 

April quirks an eyebrow, smirking. “Are you sure? Have you really looked at a Fornax?”

 

Shepard leans forward, resting her good elbow on her knee. “And what about you, Dr. O’Neil? You meet anyone? Some smart dude in a lab?” She’s expecting April to roll her eyes and list off the lab mates who are partnered, obnoxious, or otherwise unsuitable, which is what she usually does, but instead her cheeks flush pink and her eyes dart to the side. Shepard sits up straighter. “You did meet someone. Spill.” April hasn’t dated seriously in ages, as far as she can recall.

 

April shakes her head vigorously, her mouth turning down. “No, I didn’t. There’s... No. I’m not seeing anyone.”

 

“But there’s something,” Shepard says, all her instincts on alert. “Someone?”

 

April’s hunching her shoulders a little. “I’m just... trying to figure some things out. Like I said, things have been a little weird since I got back, there’s a lot to adjust to. I don’t want to mess anything up.”

 

Shepard’s staring at her with all her might, trying to piece together every bit of body language, and suddenly the puzzle comes together. “You’re falling for one of the guys. Aren’t you? Oh God, are you getting back together with Casey?”

 

April jumps, eyes widening. “What? No! Come on, Shepard, we tried that, it was fun while it lasted, but we would drive each other nuts, and besides Raph would kill me.”

 

“Then it’s one of the others,” Shepard says, relentless. She thinks back over the previous night, when April didn’t seem unusually touchy-feely with anyone, but was mostly sitting next to Donnie, like usual...

 

April shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Come on, it’s me,” Shepard says, and takes a shot. “It’s Donnie, right? Please tell me it is, because he’ll be crushed if it’s one of the others.”

 

April blanches. “Oh God, I... do you really think so?”

 

Shepard rolls her eyes. “April. He’s had a crush on you forever.”

 

“Had,” April corrects her with a sigh and tucks her feet up under her. “It’s been a long time, Shepard.”

 

“Okay, fine, I haven’t been around, but come on, he’s steady as a rock.”

 

“You _haven’t_ been around,” April returns sharply. “I mean, of course we’re friends, there might... maybe there could be something more, but... I mean, he’s seen other people.”

 

“So have you,” Shepard points out.

 

“I know.” April sighs again, linking her fingers together. “He’s one of my closest friends, and I... don’t think he’s very happy with me right now.”

 

“What makes you think that?” Shepard asks, frowning. “He seemed fine last night.”

 

“Yeah, it’s been... getting better, but.” April’s staring at her hands. “He was really supportive about my taking the fellowship, and he thinks I’m setting my career back by coming back to New York.”

 

Shepard considers that one. “Huh.”

 

“And he’s right, even.” April’s eyebrows pull together. “I just haven’t figured out how to say what I need to say without messing things up worse. I don’t want to do that. I need to be sure.”

 

Shepard raises an eyebrow at her. “You can’t be sure unless you try. You’re going to have to say something sometime.”

 

April glares at her, one of those patented O’Neil Death Looks. “Thanks for the advice. Like you’re some kind of expert on dating your best friend. This is _complicated_ , Shepard.”

 

Shepard holds up both hands, even the one in the sling. “Fine, fair enough. It’s your life. You figure it out.”

 

The glare eases off. “I will. I’ll figure it out in my own time.”

 

Shepard lowers her hands again, rolling her bad shoulder to stretch it, and can’t resist adding, “But it’s already complicated, isn’t it? If you’re even thinking about how to do it?”

 

April slumps, the fire going out of her. “Yeah. But I need to be sure.”

 

Shepard shakes her head. “I used to watch you guys together and wonder when you were going to figure it out. You were just disgusting together even if it was totally platonic.”

 

“That was a long time ago,” April says again, but she’s smiling a little.

 

“Just... make a move, April. Be stupidly happy together and make science.” The Prothean beacon shrieks in the back of her brain again, and Shepard shivers. How long do they have before the rest of the Reapers show up?

 

“You’re awfully confident it’ll work,” April says, with a half smile.

 

Shepard’s omni-tool beeps, and she glances at it with a wince. “Oh no. April, I’m really sorry, but I have to head to the shuttle port in about five minutes. Ugh, we never have enough time.”

 

“It’s fine.” April rises out of her chair with easy grace. “I’ll work out my own issues. You take care of yourself, okay? Use that Spectre access to drop us a line?”

 

“Us?” says Shepard with a smirk.

 

April rolls her eyes and slaps Shepard’s good shoulder on her way in for a hug. “You know what I mean.”

 

“Yeah.” Shepard catches the other woman in a one-armed hug. “I will, and you watch out for yourself, too.”


End file.
